the curtains weep
with loose threads that
catch the sun
in dusty strands; and the women scream silent words
into the mouths of many telephones,
which wreak the pain
of grasping sustenance each day.
I saw you losing bones in May,
when the many honorable classes
clasped hands with gray stoic ash
As they left the buildings,
the sun was raw
and faced the earth with
degenerate seasoning.
Like late noon flesh.
And the mothers weeped
into telephones
like the paper bones, that hid
the light they stole.
The collision of many individual
photons was a mere flash
of camera lenses
capturing the fallen strands
of dust and bones
Identifying, rectifying
The light they stole
was no longer
satisfying.
It's something fake,
It's hidden in your fireplace,
I spit it out and simmered
the life within that could not bend
{Oh the holy animal}
Pulling forest from the sun
And hidden in a stolen letter, lost...
Liven up, said the silly women.
The darkness is
pulled up like covers
and searches the narrow precipice
for more light to win.
Searching for the days
when life could not begin.
~ Breezy
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